


This One Thing For Me

by runs_in_the_family



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Billy Hargrove Needs Love, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Pining, Thank God for Steve Harrington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 07:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17803262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runs_in_the_family/pseuds/runs_in_the_family
Summary: Billy shows up on Steve’s doorstep, drunk and with one request.





	This One Thing For Me

       “What?” Steve laughed slightly, hoping it was a joke. “No, Jesus, I’m not…no.”

       “Come on, Harrington.” Billy’s drunken goading grew louder. “Come on, I know you want to. You know you want to.”

       Steve sighed and threw an exhausted glance to the antique clock that adorned his mother’s hall table.

       “Look, man, it’s two a.m. You’re drunk as hell, just go home.”

       His attempt at closing the door was thwarted by a heavy fist, slammed hard enough against the wood to make the Christmas wreath rattle.

       “Hargrove, I swear to God – ”

       “ _Harrington_.” He sang Steve’s name with a cheery, drunken lilt. “You want to. Don’t fucking lie to me, I can see it. I can see it in those…those fucking eyes…”

       Suddenly, Billy’s face slipped into a blank stare. His head dropped forward slightly as he gestured to Steve’s face, unsteady hand coming close enough to brush against his cheek. The momentary touch seemed to make his shoulders sag a little, like he was at a loss.

       “Those fucking…eyes…” Billy swallowed.

       A winter breeze kicked up, blowing through the open door and curling into the empty Harrington house. Steve blamed it for the shiver that ran down his spine.

       “You want to. I know you do.” Billy was quieter now. “So, just…do it.”

       “Billy.” Steve said calmly, the familiarity feeling alien on his tongue. “You need to go home.”

       “Do it, Harrington.”

       Knowing he couldn’t win the argument with reason, Steve reached for the door again.

       “I’m going to bed.”

       “Don’t be a pussy, Harrington.” A snarl was developing in his top lip, though he seemed to be trying to fight it.

       “Good night.”

       Billy gripped the side of the door and braced himself against the frame. Trying to push against his drunken heft was useless.

       “Get the fuck away from the door, Billy.”

       “Do it.”

       “I’m serious.”

       The hand was gone from the door then, gripped instead at the collar of Steve’s sweatshirt and drawing him nose to nose with Billy.

       “Do it!” Billy roared, face the picture of rage. “Fucking do it!”

       Steve grasped at his wrists, ready to wrench himself free, only to find them slipping away of their own volition. He watched as Billy backed up a step and raised his shaking hands defensively. The anger was gone, replaced with a look of desperation.

       “Please.” He whispered. “Please, I want…need you to hit me. Please, just…just once.”

       The cold air licked at Steve’s skin again.

       “I said no.”

       The snarl was replaced with a gentle quake.

       “Need you to…to hit me.” Billy repeated, breathing getting heavy. “I hurt you and you never…And if…if you hit me then…”

       Billy’s eyes screwed shut and Steve could only watch, frozen, as his fingers buried themselves between blonde curls and started tugging. Once he heard a pained whine, Steve came to his senses and stepped into the dark, pulling Billy’s grasp from his hair.

       His hands were unnaturally warm, blood running hot from the alcohol. Steve let them drop when he realised he shouldn’t have been holding them.

       Billy slowly opened his eyes, heavy lids blinking shut a tad too often. He took a few seconds before he spoke.

       “It’s easy.”

       “What is?” Steve asked, praying he didn’t already know the answer.

       “Hitting me.” Billy nodded. “It’s really easy. You won’t…you won’t feel bad after. You’ll like it.”

       Steve didn’t want to point out that he’d hit Billy before. Certainly didn’t want to admit to the satisfaction he’d gotten.

       “No I won’t.” He insisted.

       Billy sighed. His gaze dropped slightly and he reached forward, straightening the tussled sweatshirt. When he was finished, his hands stayed splayed across Steve’s chest.

       “Liar.”

       Steve took a deep breath.

       “Man, you gotta go home. You’re gonna hate yourself tomorrow.”

       “Hate myself already.” Billy almost laughed, looked on the cusp of it but didn’t seem to have it in him. “Day of the week doesn’t…doesn’t matter.”

       The grip returned, Billy curling his fingers into the soft material of Steve’s shirt. It wasn’t rough though. More desperate. He stepped closer, eyes never meeting Steve’s.

       “Please. I won’t…won’t fight back. Promise.”

       “That’s not the point.” Steve sniffed. “Look, it’s not gonna make a difference. If you’re feeling… _guilty_ , this won’t make that go away.”

       A heartbroken smile appeared for just a moment.

       “That’s not it.” Billy shook his head. “You hit me and it’ll…it’ll mean you hate me too. And if you hate me, then maybe I can…stop fucking thinking about you.”

       He met Steve’s gaze then, bloodshot eyes brimming with tears.

       “I need you to hate me. Need you to fucking hate me. Can’t fucking…can’t feel like this anymore…”

       Steve was nearly knocked off his feet when Billy stumbled forward, collapsing into his chest in a fountain of tears. He was dumbstruck as the hands on his shirt crawled upwards and Billy’s arms wrapped themselves around his neck, clinging on for dear life.

       It seemed like the sobs that pressed against his sweatshirt had been waiting a while for a chance like this. A chance to let themselves out against something warm and human. Something that would let the tears fall. Something that could take the full force of the desperate wails and muffle them, so no one would ever really know how much pain there was in them.

       Maybe there was something he could’ve said, if his throat had worked. If his head had stopped racing or his heart had taken a moment to slow down. But nothing came.

       So instead he lifted his arms, slowly, unsure of what reaction it would elicit, and carefully slid them around Billy’s chest. When he worked up the courage, he tightened his grip and pressed his cheek to the top of Billy’s bowed head. It took a lot to fight back the tear building in the corner of his eye.

       Steve held him like that for a long time. Long enough for the December chill to work it’s way into his bones. And for a long time after.


End file.
